Yannis Yfantis

Yannis Yfantis was born according to his willing in Raina (a valley of Etolia) thousands of years ago. He studied agriculture, cattle-breeding, the art of riding as well as astronomy and the art of weaving*.

When he was 22 years old he left his studies in Law in order to study undiverted the book of the World.

His published books are: Manthraspenta (1977), Mystics of the Orient (1982), Elder Edda (1983), The Mirror of Proteus (1986), Signs of Immortal Memory (1987), Poems Embroideries on the Skin of the Devil (1988), Temple of Cosmos (1996), The Garden of Poetry (2000), Archetypes (2001), The Ideogram of the Snake (2003), Love Unconquered in the Fight (2004), Transformations of Zero (2009), Under the Icon of the Stars (2013).

Many of his poems have been translated in English, French, Bulgarian, Italian, Russian, Spanish and, recently, in Arabic, Persian, Chinese, German, Finnish, and Serbian.

Although he believes that the books are made by themselves, he received, unexpectedly, for them, the Cavafis Prize for 1995 in Cairo.

_______________
* Yfantis means weaver

THE CAUSES OF THE TROJAN WAR

Much is said about the reasons that led
to the conflict between Trojans and Greeks
in the land of Ionia, in 1400 BC.
The most recent theories speak of the practice
of plundering that still exists today.
Gangs organized by states, companies, monarchs
besieged, burned and seized
flocks, treasures, women, slaves.

Yet I was always surprised
by those details such as
when the Greeks dragged their ships
black ships with huge eyes on their prows
when the Greeks dragged their ships
there on the sand in a long line. The first thing
they built after setting up their tents
were the baths, with the basins, the faucets
and then the stadium for contesting the games.

Naturally they needed flocks for food
cattle and sheep and goats. They needed
bread and wine and timber, they needed
women slaves who very often became
their tender companions
on sheepskins and weave from Aetolia,
Mycenae, Thessaly, Ithaca.
Naturally they sought, and forced or seized
but the war was not because of this.

When I gazed at you naked on your mattress
there in the stone house which has constellations
for guards. While I gazed at you
outside the mirror, alive, through time
while I gazed at you and enjoyed
again and once more and again and once more
your divine, your deadly beauty,
I realized only too well that this war
was simply for a woman.

ODYSSEUS’S FATE

Because Odysseus didn’t want war
because he didn’t want to be conscripted
he took to plowing when he heard
Agamemnon’s envoys were nearing.
He plowed with this and with that
grabbed handfuls of salt and sowed it
to convince them he was mad.

Or perhaps without knowing it
in sowing salt he was party to a magic rite,
destined as he was for years and years
to reap the sea?

That we live mythically escapes us.
That the beggar in the corner is a king escapes us.
That perhaps we are already pigs in Circe’s pigsty escapes us.
That perhaps this city is digesting us because it is Charybdis’ stomach
this escapes us. That the washing machine is the one-eyed
Polyphymus that works for us escapes us.
That the excavator that growls digging the soil is a dragon this
escapes us.
That the adder in the grass or in the stones is Apollo’s flexible arrow
that is looking for our heel escapes us.
That every motorcycle is the iron incarnation of that Gold-haired Ram
escapes us.
That the port is the ships’ stone corral this escapes us.
That all ships carry a white-haired fleece escapes us.
That all ships are trying to re-write the Galaxy’s golden-fleece
on the water this escapes us.
That water is a knife that excoriates us taking away from our body
the white, curly, many-eyed lather this escapes us.
That the towels in our bathroom are neither moss around the spring,
nor the seven peplums of Istar, but the mirror’s seven skins
escapes us.
That the lady who comes to the park with her three dogs every
afternoon is Persephone with Cerverus escapes us.
That we have already been buried this escapes us;
It escapes us that the sun that touches the twilight there on the hill
is the guardian of our tomb, a Sphinx, a lion, with a mirror
as a face and rays as hairs.
It escapes us that the Moon is our lost entombed mask which
enflamed like a lion emerges from the thicket with deathlike silence.
That we live completely mythically escapes us.
That the pencil we hold may be the prong that blinded
Cyclops, this escapes us.
That the suitors are here eating and enjoying Odysseus’s
wealth escapes us.
That like Odysseus the poet is a stranger in his own house
this escapes us.
That already the suitors’ souls are coming off the sky’s cave and go
creaking down to Hades this escapes us.
That Hermes without malice leads them through the wet paths
towards darkness this escapes us.
That we live mythically escapes us.
That we are shadows roaming outside time’s mirror this escapes us.

Oh sea I feel ecstatic, I bend my knees before your neighbouring
Minoan lily. Who is all crimson, fleshy and pen, with a long
phallus that looks embroidered by the bees perhaps,
the butterflies and Nireus’ many teenage daughters.

Here is Iphiánassa, Kynthia, and Aloe
here is Yakynthine, Alea, Kymothóe
and Flésve and Ostrakené and Pórphera and Chloe
and here is Echyessa and Póntea and Plóe.

The laurels with their all-black shining seeds, because they’re never
asked to pay taxes, and the palm trees wear huge gold bunches as
earrings, near the light-green salt-trees of the seashore.

And Katerina painted the tripod in gold, and I thought you won a
prize for the peace you put between the flies and the mosquitoes,
and for trapping the flies in large Koronean jars.

And if you are the wisest dog in the Mediterranean, you must definitely
be Diogenis’ friend. You must have the large jar as your house
as every brave man, and it wouldn’t matter that you’d often look
like a snail.

I carry on in this island whipped by typhoons
Chained to the sea as the waves
Crash against the dam, and I proclaim you.
I scream, until hoarse, your beloved name.

—José Manuel Cardona

These are poems of solid classical diction, keenly aware of the rich traditions that precede it, where mythology, travel and personal memory represent starting points for erotic and metaphysical reflection. —Andrés Neuman, from the Preface

José Manuel Cardona’s Birnam Wood is a superb account of his travels around the world in the service of poetry. —Christopher Merrill

Hélène Cardona’s translations are revelations of language and image, a voice dipped in clear water and wrung through her careful hands. —Dorianne Laux

In years, I have not read a poetry more expansive, gripping, and beautiful for the true music of language. I have been enthusiastically revitalized by the recent encounter with the poetry of José Manual Cardona, masterfully translated by his daughter, poet Hélène Cardona. In her hands, Birnam Wood sings to us in a rendering that is lush and passionate. —Rustin Larson, The Iowa Source

When you take down a book by a master poet like José Cardona you are, while reading his work, reliving, at least for a short spell, the magic of the great moderns and ancients. Hélène Cardona’s translation of her father’s work must be the crowning achievement so far in her own poetic career. For he reads in English as poetry, not as mere translation. I can’t offer better praise then this. —Peter O’Neill, Levure Littéraire.

Some of our Contributors

Links

Recent Submissions

Ed Higgins’ poems and short fiction have appeared in various print and online journals including recently: Ekphrastic Review, CarpeArte Journal, Under the Basho, Wales Haiku Journal, and Sum Journal, among ...

Amirah Al Wassif is a freelance writer. She has written articles, novels, short stories poems and songs. Five of her books were written in Arabic and many of her English ...

Raised in Izmir by the Aegean Coast, Mr Güntürk Üstün, a retired medical doctor, a poet, a long-time transportation fan has lived in Istanbul for the past 24 years and ...

Ray Greenblatt has lived in New England, the West Indies, and along the Eastern Shore. He has written short stories, essays, and poetry which have been published across the U.S. ...

Michael H. Brownstein’s work has appeared in American Letters and Commentary, Skidrow Penthouse, Meridian Anthology of Contemporary Poetry, The Pacific Review, After Hours, poetrysuperhighway.com and others. He has nine poetry ...

Upcoming Poets

Soon updated ...

Place an ad

Would you like to tell something related to the Mediterranean world to all our visitors, place an ad telling us about your poetry festival, new book or workshops on some Greek island maybe. Contact us at: ad@odyssey.pm and let us see what we can do for you ...